Atypical Alliance
by Crossroad Avarice
Summary: "Strange times breed strange alliances." Or, alternately, 'The Five Times Ventress kissed Wolffe and the one time she didn't.' [Crack!fic pairing; Now a Vig series!][Ventress/Wolffe]


**Rila:** Hi there. Um...well, I pretty much promised updates and then dropped off the face of the planet again, didn't I? Well, this *points* was holding me hostage. Muse wouldn't let anything else be written until this got done. Beta-ed by the amazingly wonderful _Impoeia._ :) Though I will say this now - I've got a new job, and it takes up a lot of my free time outside of class. I get paid about eight fifteen an hour to do it, though, so it's so worth it. :D Yaaaay~ Anyway, this is a continuance - both prior and after - their snippet in the crackfic collection by Jade, Lady Zel and I. :D And yeah for alliteration with the title! :D

Note: _Impoeia,_ you pointed out that Ventress has those tattoos above her eyes that subsitute as her eyebrows - but I couldn't figure how to work them in, so I left it as it was...sad attempt at humor...*hides*

Disclaimer: _This was so much fun to write, you have no idea. 'specially the end...*cackles*_

Word Count: 3,280

* * *

_Trust no one._

It was as close to a law as Asajj Ventress got to following. A personal law, at least, and one that she found irrefutable in its function. It kept her from getting soft; from allowing people too close.

If she had ever bothered to tell anyone her own brand of philosophy, they might have assumed that something had happened to make her adopt that way of thinking. And, though she hated to admit it to herself, much less anyone else, they would have been right.

Taken from her homeworld of Dathomir and placed on Rattatak as a slave, she hadn't gotten much in the way of providing her with well balanced views between what was right and what wasn't; it had been a cruel, lawless little planet. Her mother had been the one to sell her into slavery, and Ventress had been quick in learning the cold, hard truth.

That without her parents, no one was going to look out for her besides herself. If she wanted to survive, she would have to figure it out on her own. The other truth had been that the Republic, for all its boasting of protecting people and being there when needed, only catered to the highest bidder or the planets they stood to gain the most from.

No one from the Republic had ever stepped in to help her. She had been on her own. Or so she had thought, until she had found herself under the care of Ky Narec.

Though he was a Jedi and belonged to the Republic, he embodied nothing of what she had come to resent so avidly. Kind and warm; he had taught her the ways of the Force and how to use it.

And for a while, he was everything to her.

And then he had been taken away; just as everything else that she had held close to her had. Brutally slain; it had been the last push needed to put her on a very different path. The path to the Dark Side; to the life of a Sith.

Her revenge for Ky had brought her to the attention of the man whom she soon began to call her Master, Count Dooku. He was unlike Ky in the fact that he dismissed the need for kindness and warmth, instead teaching her how to nurture the hate that festered in her heart.

And then he too had been taken from her, though not in the way that Ky and her homeworld had been. He had betrayed her; destroying what little faith she had in trusting anyone but herself. It stung, but it, as everything else, had taught her the valuable lesson that she lived by.

Trust no one.

It was what had brought her to now, casting aside her stigma as a Sith and taking up the mantle as a bounty hunter. She had no laws to abide by; her services went to the highest bidder and if she did not find the task to her liking, she could refuse it.

The task that faced her now, however, was one that interested her on a personal level rather than the typical monetary gain.

"I need you to find someone."

If Ventress had had eyebrows, she would have arched them. But she didn't, so she settled for simply laughing, amused by the one who had posed the request and his reaction to her mirth. Jaw clenched and both cybernetic and regular eye blazing, the clone that stood before her looked moments away from pulling a blaster on her. Quieting her amusement, Ventress eyed him.

"Aren't you an Empire dog?"

And there it was again; that undercurrent of anger that wreathed him like a flame. For a man who shared a face and voice with his many fellow copies of Jango Fett, he had a very distinct presence within the Force. And with many Jedi gone, it was not difficult to single him out.

"Used to be." Ventress had to give him points for his self-control, though the stiff posture and narrowing of his eyes belied his anger. "I need your help."

"You've said that already." How fun it was to push him! Idly, Ventress wondered what it would take to make his patience finally snap. That would have to wait for another time, she supposed, as curiosity as to who a clone would want her help in finding won out. "Who is it you think you need my help in finding?"

There was a moment of silence, one in which Ventress observed her quarry. He tensed further, jaw taut before he answered curtly, "General Kenobi."

Again, had she eyebrows, she would have arched them. Curiosity beyond piqued, she staved it off and strove for a neutral tone as she inquired, how can you be sure he didn't fall? I don't like wasting my time."

It was true; she had little patience for idle goose chases. In the profession that she found herself in now, wasted time meant wasted money.

"I've heard...rumors." The clone's voice was hesitant, and a brief look of guilt skittered across his face before it disappeared. Ventress blinked. Was he regretting something in connection to Kenobi?

_Interesting._ Her lips quirked upward and she stood, waving away the way that he bristled. "Alright, you've gotten my attention. Care to tell me why you're looking for him?"

The clone remained silent, aura around him rippling. It was clear that he didn't want to tell her, and Ventress let it go. She'd find out, sooner or later.

"You know me, obviously, but I enjoy knowing the name of my employer."

A pale cybernetic eye and a brown one swept up to lock with hers. "Wolffe."

* * *

She had met him before. Now that she had a name to go with the features, Ventress recalled that this was not their first encounter. It was, however, the first that was not in hostile conditions.

"Did these rumors of yours give a location to where Kenobi might be hiding himself?" Lounging on the couch in her small apartment - no need for luxury when she moved at a moment's notice -, she watched Wolffe observe his surroundings. A sense of discomfort cloaked him like a blanket; though Ventress wasn't sure if it was because of her or that he was unused to such settings.

"Plenty," Wolffe answered at last, and anger tinged his tone as he added, "each less likely than the last."

"We will have to start somewhere." Tilting her head, Ventress rested her cheek against a fist, watching Wolffe pace the room. "Which planet do you believe him to be on?"

"I don't know."

"We'll start with the least likely." Ventress stood, meeting Wolffe's gaze. "Kenobi is a Jedi. He'll choose somewhere where no one would think to look for him."

Wolffe said nothing for a moment before he answered, "Nar Shaddaa."

* * *

"It's a start," Ventress began and stood, approaching the door. "I'll find us a mode of transportation."

"This is not a ship. It's a bucket of bolts." Expression dismayed, Wolffe didn't bother to hide his disgust for the ship before him. Hands on her hips, Ventress eyed the "bucket of bolts".

True, the ship was not new nor in the greatest condition, but the Dug she had bought it from had assured her that it still worked. "This is the best I could get on such short notice. If it doesn't suit your tastes, you can find someone else to help you."

A cheap ploy to be sure, but Ventress wasn't above using it to get what she wanted. Wolffe's expression tightened before he strode up the ramp. Watching him go, Ventress smirked. "This is going to be fun."

Ventress held no delusions that Wolffe disliked her any less simply because he was asking for her help, and she found that she didn't mind at all. It was better that way; she wasn't looking to make friends.

Stepping up the ramp, Ventress seated herself in the pilot's chair and closed the ramp, slender fingers pressing buttons and flicking switches. The beat-up ship coughed to life, floorboards rumbling as the ship lifted and began a shuddering ascent.

There wasn't much to be had in the way of conversation — Ventress was not one for idle chatter, and she suspected Wolffe to be of the same mindset. Besides, what was there to talk about? Certainly nothing she cared to divulge to her temporary companion, and she got the feeling that his asking her for help was quite a feat on its own without forcing small talk.

The ship talked for them, filling the silence with the occasional shuddering cough and whine of something beneath Ventress' feet. The swirling blue expanse of hyperspace stretched before them, an almost tranquil picture.

The smooth flick of her hands at the controls ended their hyperspace travel as the planet came into view.

"Don't get your hopes up," Ventress murmured as she lowered the ship through the atmosphere. Wolffe shot her a look, scowl pulling at his lips.

"Don't treat me like a child," he answered as the rickety legs of the ship touched down. Ventress rolled her eyes when he turned and headed for the ramp, following him out into the twisting mess of Nar Shaddaa.

It was like Coruscant in the fact that it was a planet that had forgone lush, sprawling lands for twisting spires of silver and blinking lights, the distant hum of speeders audible as they wove through the pollution-choked air, around past buildings and skywalks.

And like Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa had a darker underbelly. Unlike Coruscant, however, they did little to sweep the crime beneath the proverbial rug. It was, for lack of better words, a world steeped in sin.

Just like Coruscant, thought Ventress. Or used to be, anyway. She was no stranger to the corruption that had run rampant in the Republic before the Empire had risen, though it was hardly better now.

"We'll start looking in the less crowded areas." Ventress didn't bother to look back to see if Wolffe was following her. If she happened to lose him it wouldn't matter to her one way or another, though the loss of pay kept her from shaking him off deliberately. And speaking of her pay - did this clone even have the means to pay her? It wasn't like he was paid for his services as a clone of Jango Fett.

_Am I taking charity cases now? Bah, I'll be getting my pay, one way or another._ Still, it irked her that she had taken on the task without any sort of agreement on when and how she would be paid. She generally asked for her fee upfront, to ensure that her client would not double-cross her, but there was the occasional exception.

But this went so far against her usual ways of doing her job that it refused to leave her alone. She wasn't getting soft, was she? No; of course not.

"We'll start here," she spoke, pulling herself out of her thoughts as she came to a stop before a cantina. She turned, lips pulling into a smile - or what passed for a smile with her - at his look of dismay before she entered, Wolffe in tow.

The cantina was crowded as cantinas tended to be, teeming with all sorts of species. Smoke wreathed the room with the faint taint of burned t'bac leaves, and Ventress surveyed the room before she turned towards Wolffe. "Stay here."

He blinked and frowned, brow creasing. "Why?"

"Because I said so," she returned with a poisonous, mocking smile. Turning, she strode for one of the tables in the back. "J'dinn," she greeted the hooded fellow bounty hunter casually.

"Ventress," the Echani male greeted, edges of his fair features just visible past the cusp of his dark brown cloak. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for someone," she began, drumming her fingers on the table as she leaned back, gaze shifting to Wolffe for a moment. He was standing where she had left him, looking acutely uncomfortable. It was almost sort of cute. Almost, because Ventress didn't lower herself to categorizing things as cute.

"Who?" D'jinn's voice brought her back to the task at hand.

"A Jedi," she answered. "One by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"A Jedi?" Beneath that hood of his, Ventress was certain that he was arching his eyebrows. "What could you possibly want with a Jedi?"

"Not _me_," she answered and jerked her head in the direction of her companion, who was fending off the advances of an over-zealous Twi'lek. _"Him."_

"A clone? My, you keep interesting company." D'jinn's voice was thick with amusement, and Ventress narrowed her eyes. "Alright, I'll see what I can do." Rising with a bow of his head, D'jinn swept towards the doorway and Ventresss waved for Wolffe to approach.

"Good boy," she mocked, and he chose to ignore her in favor of asking,

"Who was that?"

"A friend of mine," Ventress answered, swinging her legs up to rest her feet on the chair that D'jinn had vacated. "We'll know if Kenobi is onworld soon." Wolffe didn't look convinced. "Don't trust my word? You wound me." She placed a hand on her chest, lips curving at the tight look he shot her. Her previous assumption had been right, she mused. This _was_ going to be fun.

D'jinn was not gone long, brown cloak flaring around him as he approached, eyes flicking over Wolffe briefly before settling back upon Ventress. "He isn't here," he began, "but I have heard a rumor of a planet called Tatooine." Satisfaction rippled off of him in waves, and he held out a hand, palm up.

"Perfect," Ventress answered, dropping a handful of credits from the pouch at her waist into D'jinn's outstretched hand and then stood. Wolffe did the same, following her out of the crowded cantina. The air outside was little better, clogged with the overbearing smells of cooked meat and refuse.

Wolffe walked with her in silence for a handful of moments before he asked, "That bounty hunter friend of yours. How can you be sure he's telling the truth?"

"D'jinn may look like a rat beneath that hood of his," Ventress began, "but he doesn't give faulty Intel." Wolffe said nothing in response, and the rest of the trip back to the beat-up freighter was spent in silence.

* * *

Tatooine.

A dustbowl of a planet, twin suns blazed mercilessly above the sea of sand that stretched over a good portion of the planet. It was also, according to D'jinn's supposed "rumor" — though she had defended him from Wolffe, she didn't trust him any further than she could throw him —where Obi Wan-Kenobi was hiding.

As she lowered the ship through the atmosphere, Ventress reached out through the Force, ignoring the unnatural stillness and lack of presence as she searched. _What do you know,_ she thought as she stumbled over a somewhat familiar presence, _he was right._ "Kenobi's here," she announced aloud, and Wolffe turned.

"Are you sure?"

Ventress almost wished she had eyebrows to arch. "The Force doesn't lie," she answered, shifting the controls of the freighter and cruising along through the still, dry air of Tatooine. Wind swirled dusty brown over the tops of short, squat buildings. This planet was a merciless one, though Ventress could understand why Kenobi had chosen it.

Controlled by Jabba the Hutt, it was one of the few planets that Imperial forces wouldn't bother searching. Empire or not, Jabba the Hutt was a force to be reckoned with. Keeping a grasp on Kenobi's presence, Ventress lowered the freighter further, kicking up plumes of dust and sand as the ship landed.

"After you," she said, motioning to the back of the ship. Wolffe rose and strode towards the lowered ramp, bright sunlight spilling in as Ventress followed him. Stifling heat pressed all around, twin suns unforgiving as heat waves rippled off dunes of yellow-brown sand. Ignoring the heat, Ventress followed Wolffe towards the modest little house.

It was a moment before the door opened and Obi-Wan stepped out, still clad in his tradition garb. "Wolffe," he began, looking surprised to see the clone, though his eyebrows rose further still as his gaze fell upon Ventress. "Ventress?"

"Obi-Wan," she returned, and then turned her attention to Wolffe. "I've finished my end of the deal. Now, about my payment..." Wolffe blinked.

"I don't have any credits," he told her, and Ventress' lips curved at the corners as she approached, taking delight in the wary way in which he eyed her.

"I don't do things for free," she began, "and I get my payment, one way or another." Impulse would have been the best way to describe why she leaned further forward and pressed her lips to his. There was no romantic inclination to it, just a simple curiosity as to what it would feel like and what he would do. What could she say? He was fun to play with. Out of the corner of her eye, Ventress saw Kenobi cough and look away pointedly. The kiss, a dry brush of lips against lips, lasted only a moment longer before she pulled away, amusement rolling off of her in waves. "Not bad," she said, "but I prefer credits."

Wolffe blinked and perhaps, had he been someone else, he would have gaped at her. There was a faint hue of red on his cheeks, color that could not be blamed upon the heat that pressed around them, though he recovered quickly. Narrowing his eyes and clearing his throat, he began heatedly, "I am not some—"

"Save it." Amused, Ventress waved his words off with a flick of a pale-skinned hand, the other resting on her hip. "It was payment, nothing else." She turned, heading back towards the freighter.

Both Obi-Wan and Wolffe watched her go before Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. "I suppose women are like the Force," he began, "in the fact that no one will ever quite understand them."


End file.
